


Eurydice

by peppermintquartz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate ending to Mizumono where Will leaves with Hannibal, Domesticity, Implied Cannibalism, Implied Murder, M/M, Murder Husbands, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will took Hannibal's offer to leave before the dinner with Jack. They are now in a smaller town, and they have new lives. Will can't decide if this is better than before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bake Sale

**Author's Note:**

> I changed the title because this turned out to be a multi-chapter work

Abigail's gone back to school. She's cut her hair, dyed it into a paler color, and over the break they had wandered around Italy in the sun, so she's tanned and healthier-looking. The missing ear is seldom commented on once they fitted a prosthetic with a hearing aid. People get uncomfortable with such things. She has also changed her name. All of them have. 

Hannibal Lecter's patients address him as Dr Fell.  Will certainly fell for him.

Abigail is now Amanda Fell; she is usually assumed to be Hannibal's and Will's adopted daughter, and there are a few raised eyebrows at that, but these people don't matter. Few people do, these days.

Will chose to be William Hart, and it is good not to have to remember a different name. He has too many names in his head, and too many faces. Hannibal is helping him purge these faces from his mind, but it takes time, and for some of them Will finds it hard to let go.

*****

"There's a bake sale at the school next week," Abigail announces on Tuesday as she traipses into the living room, where Will is writing his first book. It'll be published under a _nom de plume_ , of course, but it is in the meantime a catharsis for his troubled mind. She peers into the kitchen. "Where's Hannibal?"

"He's with a patient at the moment," says Will. He is still unused to calling his therapist by his name. It is intimate, somehow, and Will can't bring himself to utter it when they had company, even if said company was Abigail. 

The girl flops into the nearest armchair. She is less restrained now, more comfortable with him and Hannibal, and sometimes the teenager in her shines through her shell. "I will need help with the baking. I'm supposed to make mini pies. I've not baked a pie in ages, not since-"

She trails off and bites her lower lip. Will saves his draft and shuts down the laptop. He goes to her and sits on the arm of the chair, and she rests her head on his knee.

"I'm sure Hannibal has thousands of pie recipes he can teach us," says Will softly, and places a hand on top of her head.

*****

Hannibal does have extensive knowledge of baking. "Unfortunately, I have never truly mastered the art," he admits over dinner prep that night. Abigail is chopping up the vegetables and Will has been tasked to deal with the sauces. "It's too mathematical, and I prefer the intuitive approach. Still, there is much to say for the smell of fresh-baked goods filling a house."

"Makes it homely," says Will, and earns a tender smile from Hannibal.

They decide on pork pies, since Hannibal is far more comfortable handling meat. Will tells them that he wants them to use actual pork. Abigail flushes and Hannibal smirks.

Will thinks this is as close to family as he can get for now.

*****

The bake sale is next Friday. They'll practice baking on Saturday, and spend Thursday afternoon making the pies for the sale. On Friday, Hannibal and Will get the ingredients before they pick Abigail up from school. Will says it is to make sure Hannibal doesn't switch out the pork for something else, and the doctor only laughs.

Will finds himself absurdly pleased that he has made Hannibal laugh.

Once school is let out, the children tumble out in a riot of noise. The two men wait by their car, a short distance from the school gate. Abigail walks out alone, and just as Will is about to go up to her he sees a taller redhead shove her against the wall. The tall girl has her friends with her, and they surround her right outside the school gate. The other students stream past them.

Will tenses, and feels Hannibal's hand on his shoulder.

Abigail does not look afraid, but flinches when the red-haired girl snatch at her prosthetic ear. She says something that makes Abigail blanch, before she and the rest of her friends walk away. They hear the girls congratulating the redhead. They hear a name.

"Hannibal," Will says quietly, "let's go out for a walk tonight after dinner. Just the two of us."

"I would like that very much, Will," Hannibal says, and slides his arm around the younger man.

*****

Abigail does not know that they went out. Hannibal has very carefully dosed her dessert, and she falls asleep while she is revising. Will carries her into bed and tucks her in. Sometimes he has trouble believing that she is not dead, and Hannibal has to coax him away from the girl's door.

They drive to the park and stroll around leisurely. It is very private and quiet, an oasis of calm, and Will thinks he may incorporate this quietness into the stream in his head. Then he stops walking.

"What is it?" Hannibal asks.

"I have... I have a confession to make," Will says. "I think you know most of it. But I want you to hear it from me."

Hannibal guides them to a bench. Will takes the older man's right hand and clasps it loosely in his own. He wonders how much Hannibal already knows, then decides it doesn't matter.

"After I was released, I set up a trap with Jack," he says, "for you."

Hannibal says nothing, but sits closer and uses his free hand to tuck Will against his shoulder.

Will continues, "I was so angry with you for Beverly's death. I still am, sometimes. And I set out to snare you, get you to try to kill someone in front of my eyes."

"You seduced me," Hannibal remarks.

"Yes. Though I didn't mean for it to be a seduction."

"Imagine how much more successful you would've been if you had meant for it to be."

"I'm a lousy flirt." Will huffs in amusement and buries his face into Hannibal's coat. "Hannibal."

"Yes?"

"Freddie Lounds is alive. I didn't kill her."

Hannibal tenses very slightly. The pause drags on, and then Hannibal says, "I knew that. I didn't think you'd admit to it."

"When did you find out?"

"You smelled of her shampoo when you were helping me burn my records." The doctor exhales slowly. "It was painful, knowing you had betrayed me."

Will glances up and frowns. "Then why did you ask me to leave with you?"

Hannibal's brow creases. "I wanted you to choose," he says simply. "And you chose me. Everything else does not matter."

"Jack is probably hunting us," Will says. apropos of nothing. "We ought to lay low."

"Jack has Bella to worry about," says Hannibal. Then his lips brush over Will's forehead. "Do you trust me?"

It is surprisingly easy to answer. "Yes."

"We won't be caught," says the doctor. "And then tomorrow, you and Abigail will learn to make pies."

"She will know."

"Of course she will, she's a smart young woman," says Hannibal. "And she will also know why we did it." 

Will closes his eyes. "Good."

*****

"I miss my dogs," Will confides in Hannibal much later that night after they have gotten into bed. Clean-up takes less time when there are two persons working in tandem, and the meat has been stored properly.

Hannibal is in a good mood and has the thick curtains drawn apart, allowing the light from the outside to float into their bedroom, painting everything in gold.

The older man runs his dexterous fingers over Will's arm. "I am sure Alana is taking good care of them."

"And I'm sure," says Will, rolling over to face Hannibal, "that they're convinced you have killed and eaten me."

"Perhaps." Hannibal's eyes darken. "But we both know that's not true."

Will hums and slides his hand over Hannibal's chest, feeling rough hairs under his fingers. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm already one of your spectacular dishes, and this is my version of heaven."

"To be part of your heaven will be my greatest accomplishment," Hannibal murmurs and runs a finger over Will's lips, over his stubbled cheeks and chin, down the line of his jaw. "I'm glad you came with me."

"I'm glad I came with you."

They kiss languidly. Will is still learning this aspect of his terrifying, inscrutable lover, and he has learned that Hannibal likes kisses, all types, from the timid pecks on his temple to the deep devouring open-mouthed kisses they shared the night they arrived in Florence. When Will discovered that Abigail was not dead. That Hannibal cared for him as a person, more than Hannibal has ever cared for another human being.

Tonight, it seems as though Hannibal intends to take it slow. He rolls Will onto his back and nuzzles at his neck, breathing him in deep lungfuls. His left arm supports most of his weight, though Will is more than happy to feel Hannibal's warm skin settle over him; his right hand skates over Will's chest, his fingers playfully tugging on Will's nipples.

Will lets his head loll back. Hannibal knows which of his buttons to press to turn him into pudding, and which to spark off raging desire. It is easier to just go with the flow, in whichever direction Hannibal wants him. Involuntarily his legs part to allow the older man to settle in.

"So certain of my desires, Will?" Hannibal teases. Hannibal is still flicking a firm thumb over Will's right nipple, rubbing circles around it and pressing lightly on it. Will squirms and refuses to answer. Hannibal chuckles and runs his tongue over the younger man's throat. "Or are you telling me what you want me to do?"

Will responds with a brief jerk of his hips into the warm, heavy hip pressing over his own. Hannibal exhales and pulls away briefly to grab the lubricant in the first drawer and to snap on a latex glove.

Will bites his lower lip and swallows back his nervousness. This is not his first time being penetrated, and even on that first, frantic night Hannibal had patiently prepared him until he was a sobbing wreck. He knows Hannibal won't hurt him, but he knows also how easily that can change.

 _I'm balancing on a knife edge,_ he thinks wildly as Hannibal rubs small circles around his entrance. He reaches up for the older man and cups that strange face, marveling that he has caught the attention of this unique man. 

Hannibal pushes the first finger in and Will grimaces; it's not as uncomfortable as that first time, but he's still not used to it, not used to this physical vulnerability. His free hand clenches on the sheets. Hannibal stops moving and whispers, "Relax, Will, I'm here."

 _Yes._ Will forces himself to breathe slowly through his mouth, forces his muscles to go lax.

Hannibal resumes preparing Will, with the same meticulous care as he does everything. Will watches Hannibal studying him closely, observing Will's reactions and expressions. It makes the intrusion less invasive, and Hannibal smiles up at Will before he slides another finger in.

"Hannibal," Will breathes the name out, a prayer on chapped lips. The older man kisses Will's knee and up his inner thigh, his fingers working skillfully. Will's eyes flutter close. It has been so long since he had a partner who lavished him with such attention; they never stay long anyway, not after the second or third time he makes an unwelcome observation, or when he ducks away from making eye contact. But Hannibal loves the way Will looks at things, the way he looks and understands people. Hannibal loves how much Will  _feels_ , perhaps because Hannibal does not feel much for others. Not in the way Will can and does.

The doctor pulls his hand away and tugs off the latex glove. Will grabs a condom from under his pillow and removes the foil packet, rolling it onto Hannibal with efficient movements and slicks him up quickly. They have not discussed it in detail; Will wonders if Hannibal wants there to be no barrier between them, and wonders again if he himself wants there to be a barrier at all.

"You're thinking again," Hannibal chides gently, his large hand pushing Will's curls from his brow. 

"Make me stop," Will answers.

Hannibal lines himself up and slowly pushes in, his hands holding Will's hips so tightly that Will cannot move away at all. The older man's incredible strength and control still makes Will breathless sometimes. He hisses in a breath when the stretch is slightly too raw, and Hannibal pulls out to add more lubricant.

Will smiles at Hannibal, brushing his hands over his lover's. "I won't break, you know."

"I know," says Hannibal. He draws Will's knees up further, his shoulders under Will's legs now, and pushes in again. "I won't let you."

Much later, after Will has gotten over his embarrassment at the volume of the noises he made, he realizes that Hannibal succeeded in making him stop thinking. He rests his head on Hannibal's shoulder, watching the steady rise-and-fall of his lover's chest, and thinks that maybe he is happy.


	2. Janus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This occurs after Will and Hannibal leave. Acts as a prelude to the previous chapter.

Hannibal watches the play of emotions over Will's face, and wonders if the younger man truly thought he could fool Hannibal. Yet in his heart Hannibal could not blame Will; the man is torn between what he is and what he is supposed to be. So he makes his offer: they can leave, now, leave Jack alive to hunt ghosts. The unspoken presence of Alana, safe and sound, hangs between them.

Will struggles. His jaw is clenched, his gaze skitters over the plates, the floral arrangement, his hands. His lips tighten. Hannibal's fingers tighten too and he finds himself staring. He is, he is surprised to find, nervous about the choice Will is going to make. To come with Hannibal and live, or reject him and suffer.

It is true for them both. Hannibal has offered his heart, as vulnerable as he has never been.

"I... I will leave with you," Will says, and his eyes skate back up to meet Hannibal's burgundy gaze. There is a sheen of wetness in his vivid, sorrowful blue. "Are you packed?"

"Yes." All that Hannibal wants to keep have been delivered earlier that morning to his private estate in Florence. Only a few changes of clothes and Will Graham remain here, and they can go immediately.

Will stands and turns away, his hands on his trim waist. His back shifts as though he is trying to hold in a large breath, and slowly he relaxes. "We'll need to stop by my place, feed my dogs one last time."

"Of course."

"I need you there with me," he says. He turns back to Hannibal. "I don't know if I have... if I have enough faith in this. In us."

Hannibal rises to his feet and goes to Will, gently pulling the younger man into an embrace. "Thank you."

*****

Their escape is unhurried; Will and Hannibal spent some time with Will's dogs, playing one last game before Will wrote a message and locked up the house. They have already checked in when Will's cell phone rings.

"Will? Is Jack with you?" Alana asks, her voice oddly flat.

"No," Will says, forgoing the fact that he is at the airport and is about to discard his phone and his life. "What is it?"

"They've issued a warrant for your arrest." She inhales sharply. Will can picture her red-rimmed eyes; she is too emotionally invested in his well-being. She says something about entrapment and the murder of Randall Tier, but Will pays little heed. Hannibal is looking at him fondly, and they should be boarding.

Will smiles at Hannibal. A weak smile, true, but one nonetheless. "Thank you, Alana. Check on the dogs please. Goodbye."

He shuts the phone down and tosses it into the trash.

"Alana?" Hannibal asks. He has sharp hearing.

Will nods. "I've never flown first class before."

"It's quite an experience," says the older man, placing one hand on the small of Will's back.

"Is there some sort of etiquette on board that I should know about?"

"The usual. Nothing fancy, I promise."

"Your version of fancy or mine?"

"Yours." Hannibal's eyes are bright with humor. 

*****

It takes three days for them to get to their new home. Hannibal insisted on a brief stopover in the city, explaining that he needed to arrange for deliveries of certain supplies and other administrative details. The first night was spent in the most comfortable airplane seats Will has ever been in, but he has little liking of flying so he hardly slept. The second night Hannibal got them two rooms in a hotel. Will was a little disappointed with that and alarmed that he had been disappointed.

 When they finally arrive at the villa after a lengthy drive, it is already past sunset. Will is quiet, taking in the scenic view of all that green, rolling into the distance. He wishes his dogs were here; they will adore having so much open space to romp in.

"If you want, I can try to get your pack shipped here," says Hannibal, sliding one hand onto Will's knee. 

"Too much hassle, Hannibal, and the FBI can track the address to here. Alana will find them good homes." Will closes his eyes. 

"We are almost there."

About twenty minutes later, Hannibal turns the car west into a tree-lined avenue, and fifteen minutes later he stops in front of a villa. 

"It looks like something out of a painting," Will remarks. The lights in the building have been lit, as are the lights bordering the stone path up to the house, but there is little else to illuminate the grounds. Overhead, the skies are streaked in oranges and purples and pinks, which would be garish in any other context.

Hannibal takes their bags and passes one to Will, before he leads the way to the door. "It is a lovely place to live in, if a little inaccessible. I think you will like it."

Will did not expect the door to be opened by a slender, dark-haired girl. He almost dropped his luggage. He stares at the girl and then at Hannibal. "Am I dreaming?"

"No," says Hannibal. "Welcome home."

Abigail reaches out and takes Will's free hand. "Come in. I made pizza. Signora Carlotta taught me this afternoon."

*****

"Are we sleeping in different rooms tonight?" Will asks after Abigail has gone off to bed. She has told Will everything, and Hannibal has supplied the reason behind the lie that almost broke Will Graham. 

Hannibal almost looks taken aback. "Do you wish for us to share a room?"

Will flushes. "I need to sort out how I feel about you," he answers quietly. "And I think I need you for that."

"Then we will share a room," the older man says, and steers them upstairs.

*****

Will finds out that he has a lot of rage against Hannibal. Rage for the torment of grief, rage for the wrongful incarceration, rage for Beverly's death. He takes it out on Hannibal with biting, desperate kisses that draw blood from the older man's thin lips, and with scratches gouged along pale skin. He also has a lot of rage against himself, and he gives in to Hannibal's hungry touches, telling himself that he deserved this, that he deserved to be devoured by this creature.

He is not prepared for Hannibal's tenderness in the midst of their furious passion, however, and actually trembles when the older man slowly slides lubricated fingers into him. He tries to protest the gentle treatment. Hannibal ignores his vicious words entirely, focusing on readying Will's body which treacherously relaxes into the older man's warmth.

"You have not done this before," Hannibal murmurs into Will's sweaty skin, his hairy chest rough against Will's back. "Let me enjoy your gift to me."

"I am not a gift," Will bites out, though he cants his hips higher. "I will be your torment. A burden. I don't - I don't even know-"

"I do." Hannibal tests his teeth on Will's nape and the younger man shivers.

Two fingers, then three, and then it is Hannibal himself claiming Will. The younger man muffles his gasps with a pillow, feeling something burn inside him even as hot hands hold him tight. He falls onto a forearm and reaches between his legs, only to find Hannibal wrapping his strong fingers over Will's own hand. The pace Hannibal sets is the one Will gets, and he urges the older man to move harder, faster. His free hand clutches helplessly at the sheets, his toes curl; he hears Hannibal's breathing and realizes he is breathing just as hard, and he clenches experimentally around Hannibal's cock inside him.

"Will-" Hannibal gasps, and then he lets go of Will's erection to grip his hips. Will barely has enough time to feel smug when Hannibal begins to fuck him roughly, punishing thrusts that bumps the bed against the wall, and Will is seeing spots flicker in front of his eyes. His hand speeds up, jerking himself off, heedless of the mess he's making below him,

Then Hannibal bends over and laces their fingers together. He growls Will's name and something in a foreign tongue -  _"mano širdis, mylimas Will" -_ and his voice, uncontrolled and wild, pushes Will over the edge.

*****

"How do you even get lotus root out here?" Will asks, amused by the array of ingredients laid out in the tiled kitchen. It is a warmer, more welcoming space than the industrial kitchen that Hannibal had in Baltimore.

Hannibal smiles. "It is easy once you find the right grocer."

Will is given the task of slicing up the root. "There is a Chinese legend of a deity," he says, "a third son who disobeyed the will of his father."

"Oh?"

"This third son punished the dragons for causing drought and floods, but his father, a general, was afraid of the dragons and wanted to punish the son." Will placed the lotus root slices into a steel bowl. "The son instead cut off his flesh and dug out his marrow to renounce his blood ties. The Goddess of Mercy was touched by his show of defiance and integrity, and remade him with the lotus from her pond."

"He returned the flesh and blood of his cowardly father in exchange for his integrity." Hannibal takes the bowl from him, and sprinkles salt over the slices. "A lotus comes from the mud but remains unsullied by the mud."

Will touches Hannibal's hand. "I am worried about Abigail."

"She will be a lotus," says the older man, and kisses to Will's brow. "She has already shed flesh and blood to be free of her father."

"The father was deified too," says Will. "He carries a pagoda in his hand at all times. It is meant to be a mighty weapon, but I think it is also his punishment."

“We all have burdens to bear, my dear Will," says Hannibal. 

"Am I one of them?"

"A sweet one," Hannibal answers, "and I am your burden as well."

Will feels the corners of his mouth quirk up. "Not that sweet, I'm afraid." He steps close around the kitchen island and wraps his arms around Hannibal's waist, his face pressed between Hannibal's shoulder blades. "You cannot trust me out of your sight, Hannibal. I don't know what I will do."

Hannibal places his clean hand over Will's. "I will keep you close until you do know."

"Good." Will breathes in the smell of the monster he has chosen, and tries to believe that this is the better path.


	3. Gift

"Did you ever hate me?" Will asks one evening as they stroll along dirt paths. The breeze is perfect, though the skies threaten rain later in the night. The air is rich with the scent of just-turned earth, while swifts, swallows and martins scream melodious high above.

Hannibal breathes in all the complex scents, and the fragrance of Will Graham beside him is a constant reminder of how strange the world is. Last year the younger man would have desired no less than a reckoning; this year Will is walking hand-in-hand with him.

He thinks about Will's question. "Have I ever hated you? No. Have I felt hurt because of you? Yes." 

"Because I lied to you?"

"Yes. But I understand your reasons for that deception, as I understand the reasons behind your sending Matthew Brown after me." Hannibal's thumb strokes over Will's skin in absent reassurance. "Truth be told, I had been so pleased that he came to me because of you."

Will huffs, not quite amused. "I hated you so much then."

"I suppose I deserved it."

"Of course you did," Will retorts carelessly. He strays closer, his arm bumping against the doctor's. "I feel sorry for Matthew though. That he died for my vengeance."

Hannibal glances at his lover. "He was a killer in his own right. You would have wanted him caught were you not trapped in that hospital."

"If you had died," Will remarks, gazing into the distance, "I might have been grateful to him. Perhaps I'd have become his friend."

"You would have become his excuse," says Hannibal, his tone sharper than he likes. 

Will huffs again and nuzzles his stubbled cheek against Hannibal's coat. "You're jealous of a dead man."

They stroll on until they come to the crest of the small hill. Looking over the valley and vineyards, Will wonders how he ever came to be here. He lifts Hannibal's hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the knuckles. Then he turns the wrist over and traces over the faded scar with his breath and then the tip of his tongue.

"If he hadn't been shot by Jack," Will asks, "what would you have done to Matthew?"

"If I survived his attack?"

"Yes."

"I would have carved him open and taken his heart," says Hannibal easily. "Then I would have cleaned it, preserved it, and gifted it to you."

"In a mason jar, I presume. Maybe with a white ribbon."

"Together with a bouquet of of camellia, maidenhair fern, gardenias, and blue violets." Hannibal smiles and kisses Will on his temple, breathing in the earthy scent of the younger man. "He had a deep and abiding love of you, Will, for all that you and he knew little of each other. Perhaps he could have been your anchor had you not been exonerated, and if I had not been made aware of his existence."

Will sighs. "And you would give me his heart to keep."

"Of course. He would desire no less. In his way, he loved you better than I do. He deserved honoring for that."

"How did I come to be here?" Will slips his arm into Hannibal's as they start on their journey home. It is a strange concept, but Will's heart feels light for it. "I could be in a cell, while he and I communicate only with fleeting looks and touches. But I am here in a beautiful countryside with you."

"You made a choice," says Hannibal. His thumb caresses Will's hand again, fond and gentle. "As have I."

"Hmm?"

"I had someone adopt Winston on our behalf," says Hannibal. "He should be on our doorstep tonight."

Impulsively, Will throws a hug around the older man, and grins when he feels Hannibal wrap his strong arms around his waist. He presses enthusiastic kisses onto Hannibal's cheeks and jaw and mouth. 

"Thank you," says Will.

Hannibal smiles, a genuine one, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. "You indulged me for providing for Abigail's bake sale. I thought I should return the favor."

Will shakes his head, though his face is still full of the joy of anticipated reunion. "So if I pick six other-"

"No. One dog shedding its fur I will tolerate. Seven dogs are six too many." Hannibal sniffs. The argument between Will's easygoing approach to housekeeping and Hannibal's near obsessive desire to keep everything pristine is a delightfully familiar one, and there is no heat behind Hannibal's words.

Will sighs and rests his head against Hannibal's shoulder, for the moment wanting nothing more than to hold his lover in his arms. "I can't believe I just offered to select six victims for your kitchen."

"I am surprised too."

"You won't stop."

"No. It is my nature. You will not ask a storm to restrain its rage. You will not ask the darkness to illuminate." Hannibal tilts Will's chin up. "But I can restrict the frequency, and stay low profile. Do you wish to know when I do it, or will you rather be kept in the dark?"

Will wants to select the latter option, but he knows better. Secrets will fester and he will grow to resent Hannibal for keeping them. The cycle will resume, and they will once again hurt and rend each other to ribbons. Others will be implicated and killed in their mess.

He sighs and says, "Can I... can I choose them for you, when you feel like you need to?" He breathes out and adds, "When you need to. Like I chose Seraphina for the pies."

"My dear Will." There is a light in Hannibal's eyes. Will can't tell if it is pleasure or curiosity. Perhaps it is both. The older man smiles. "It will be an honor to carry out your will."

The younger man can't help the roll of his eyes, yet as they amble back home, Will wonders if he has sunk far enough to choose not to care.


	4. Instinct

College is both less and more than what Abigail expected. 

She keeps to herself mostly, though she makes a few friends. Isolation draws attention. Introversion doesn't. Her friends are innocent, flighty and sweet. She likes them this way. Too much double-talk has made her glad of simple people.

It is an act, a conscious act, and one that Abigail navigates as easily as she navigated her father's moods and how she navigates the dual orbits of Hannibal and Will Graham.

She has learned too much about Hannibal Lecter to know that she can ever leave his influence or his surveillance. Even the college they chose together is but a few days' drive from the villa.

It is both reassuring and terrifying that they are so close.

*****

Sometimes she notices boys looking at her. She is not ugly, and apparently her attire draws attention. However, her missing ear is more than sufficient deterrent for most of these boys. There is one who isn't deterred.

He thinks she is prey. She certainly carries herself as one. Whether she intended to initially, she has adopted some of Will's tics, particularly his terrible habit of fidgeting. From Hannibal she adopts the mask.

Sometimes, when she looks at him trying to size her up, she wants to laugh.

He is only a fox. She has walked in the company of lions. 

*****

When Hannibal first installed her in the house in Florence, she had been scared that he had brought her there to kill her or worse, and yet she managed to screw up the courage to ask him his plans for her.

"You are meant for Will Graham," he had said cryptically.

She knew, and never quite managed to force the realization away, that if Will Graham broke Hannibal's heart, she would die.

Some days she wanted to flee because of that fact.

Some days she prayed for hours. To what or for what reason, she did not know.

Some days she wished for it to be concluded, one way or another, for the sword of Damocles to fall.

Then Hannibal brought Will home. 

*****

Will is different now. He is more confident in his own skin. He is very comfortable around Hannibal, initiating contact most of the time. He touches Hannibal carelessly - at breakfast, passing him coffee and his tablet; offering his mouth for a kiss when the doctor walks past him; leaning against the older man when they sit on the porch, watching the sunset.

Hannibal's edges are gentler - no, they are _subtler._  He runs his fingers through Will's curls almost absently, but Abigail sees how he lingers on the base of Will's skull; he sketches more often, mostly of Will, and he always leaves the eyes for last, leaving them blank and lifeless until the mood takes him to shade them in; he leaves marks on Will's neck, obvious and gauche indicators of possession, not that Will minds them enough to hide them.

There are times she sees them holding entire conversations by merely looking at each other. She wonders what they talk about.

*****

She smiles and sips her drink. She never has more than one, and she keeps it in her hand all the time. Precaution has become instinct after living with Hannibal and Will. 

A shy-looking boy sidles up. He is in her psych class, she recalls, though he has never spoken directly to her. She has seen him around.

"Hey." He bites his upper lip and looks at his shoes. It's meant to be disarming and appealing, the gesture, but the steadiness of his hands and his dominant stance give him away. He is playing at being shy, a wolf in sheep's clothing. His accent is slight, but he uses English. This one has done his homework. "Amanda, right?"

"Yes. I don't remember you." The hidden taunt spurs a flash of humiliated anger in the boy's eyes. _So obvious,_ Abigail sighs inwardly, and says, "You sit about two rows from the front, on the left?"

The light in the boy's gaze become self-congratulatory. Too young a predator, but too ignorant of his clumsiness.

Abigail wants to laugh in his face. She settles for sipping her beer.

"I'm Adam," he says.

She smiles at him from under her lashes. "Hello, Adam."

*****

She doesn't go back with him. His pride is injured, and two days later he starts stalking her. She debates using her switchblade. Instead she calls home.

Will answers, and they have a good, long conversation.

*****

A week later, Adam is reported missing. He is not missed by many.

"Too shy," his roommate tells the police. "Never quite fit in. I thought he decided to go home. He was not happy here."

*****

Abigail enjoys a good barbecue with the few whom she considers friends. She provides steaks for their grill, seasoned with a secret spice mix provided by her adopted father.

They love the steaks, and after a quick phone call to Hannibal, she invites them to her place for term break, on condition that they are very, very polite.

"My father does not tolerate rudeness," she tells them. "He's old-fashioned about manners, so be very careful about that. No feet on furniture or shouting and such things. But he will treat us to the most fantastic meals."

"And your other father?" asks Giovanna. She has hair like a fall of sunbeams, and a tanned face of freckles that won't look out of place on a Californian beach. "What's he like?"

Abigail smiles. "I owe him everything."

*****


	5. Leashed

Will Graham wakes in cold sweat. This is not unfamiliar territory, unfortunately, nor is the almost-uncontrollable shaking that follows.

He and Hannibal sometimes share a bed, but tonight is not one of those nights, for which he is now regretting. Will is a restless sleeper, and Hannibal wakes easily. But their rooms are joined and he forces a word past clenched teeth: "Hannibal."

He shivers and shivers, his muscles threatening to cramp. Black antlers have surrounded the bed. Some pierce through him, scratching out from under his fingernails and from behind his eyes.

"Hannibal!" he cries out.

He feels the older man rather than hear him or see him. Frantic and panicked, Will struggles; he can't tell if he wants Hannibal to hold him or if he's afraid to impale Hannibal with his horns.

The fight escalates when he is flipped face down into the mattress, the right side of his face pressed into the sheets, His arms are twisted up behind him, and a great weight settles over his thrashing legs.

The lack of air became the priority. Will fights to breathe and his mouth opens to gasp for oxygen. He feels spittle smear the side of his mouth, and then just as he's about to bite his tongue, a heavy hand settles on the back of his neck.

For some reason, the feel of that hand drains all his panic.

Once he relaxes, his breathing slows and his mind fades into the present, like fog fading in morning light.

"Can you hear me now, Will?" Hannibal asks gently.

Will inhales, holds his breath, and sighs an affirmative.

The older man releases Will and gets off him. He helps Will to a sitting position and rubs warmth back into chilled limbs, his burgundy eyes searching Will's face. The younger man can't look at Hannibal, not yet, not until the feeling of spines dissipate from his the back of his eyes. He has no idea how long it has been until he finally exhales shakily and meets his lover's concerned gaze.

"N-nightmare," he manages.

Hannibal waits.

Will licks his lips and then crawl into Hannibal's lap, curling up as best as he can into the broad expanse of the older man's body. Hannibal's sleep-warm scent calms him down, and he shushes Winston, who is watching worriedly from his bed. Will has to smile.

"He still doesn't trust you that much," Will tells Hannibal, running his fingers along Hannibal's protective arm. "He has good instincts."

"He just doesn't appreciate me keeping him off the furniture," Hannibal says. He presses his face into the top of Will's head and rocks the younger man gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not tonight." Will sighs and burrows closer. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

Hannibal kisses Will again. "My bed then. We'll change your sheets tomorrow. No, Winston, you stay here."

The scruffy dog whined, but settled onto his front paws when Will shushed him again.

Hannibal makes a disgruntled noise. He tucks Will into bed and joins him, his reassuringly heavy arm draped over Will's waist. "Winston doesn't obey me."

"I do," Will says soothingly, and curls into the heat behind him. He does not dream for the rest of the night.

*****

Hannibal finds Will staring out from their porch, absently tossing tennis balls for Winston to retrieve. The dog is bounding with energy and joy; Will looks like he is dazed. The older man touches Will on his elbow.

"Lunch," he tells Will, and watches as awareness seeps back into haunted blue eyes.

Will smiles. "Thank you." He rubs his elbow where Hannibal touched him earlier, as though stung, and catches himself doing it. He glances at Hannibal. "Sorry. I'm not up to it yet."

"How do you feel?"

They are literally thousands of miles away from Hannibal's office. Yet Will feels the dark wood around them, the cheerful smell of the fireplace, the texture of the book spines under his calloused fingertips.

"Like I've been flayed," he says honestly.

"There is nothing here to be exposed to that you've not been exposed to before," Hannibal remarks. 

It's true. Will knows that his dogs have been, for a long time, the only recipients of his unguarded affection, and with them he has no need of pretense. With Hannibal, no pretense can endure under his cool analysis. He scrubs irritably at the back of his arms and eats the sandwich Hannibal has made for him. The ingredients are fresh and - Will pries one apart - there is no meat.

Will is glad of that. He has no idea what he might have done if there was. _  
_

Winston trots back, inordinately proud with his retrieval. He drops the ball at Will's feet and earns a pat on the head, and then Will tosses the ball again, bouncing it down their backyard.

"If the dog gets into the kitchen gardens, Carlotta will flay you," Hannibal says fondly.

Will snorts. "Carlotta spoils him with scraps and you know it. You're the only one who doesn't give him treats."

"He's getting fat as it is." That is as direct as Hannibal ever gets outside of the bedroom. Will chuckles and finishes the sandwich. 

Living in the Italian countryside agrees with Hannibal. The older man's sophistication is still present, but layered with a genial warmth that was lacking in the States. Or maybe it is due to Will's influence, or maybe he has grown accustomed to Hannibal's presence.

The hypersensitivity fades and he leans into Hannibal's frame, a silent indication that whatever was bothering him has passed. The doctor tucks him closer and kisses his ear.

"I'm worried about me," Will confides.

"What about? You look far better here than you have ever looked in Wolf Trap or the BSU."

"One phone call and I had us going to Abigail. Just one. And we-" The words stick in Will's throat, but he forces them out. "We killed a boy."

Hannibal hums. "He was threatening Abigail. He had hurt other girls before."

Winston returns and flops at Will's feet. The younger man sits down and rubs at the offered belly. Hannibal waits until Will sends the dog off before he helps Will to his feet, and dusts away as much dog hair as he can. 

"I'm not saying he didn't deserve punishment. I am saying that I can't... I can't accept that I've... Hannibal, did you see this part of me?" Will asks, when Hannibal has him mostly fur-free.

"You will have to be specific, my dear Will."

Will levels his older lover a look. "Was it obvious that I could kill?"

"Anyone can kill," says Hannibal, leading them into the kitchen. He pours them each a glass of Pinot Grigio, and Will picks at the cubes of cheese laid on a platter on the kitchen island. "Given the proper motivation, anyone can be a murderer."

Will's lips twitch. "Given the kinds of cases I've been on, I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He scrubs at his cheeks. "I just never put myself into that category. It's one thing to kill when provoked; it's another to drive for days just to murder a boy half my age."

"Doing bad things to bad people-"

"-makes us feel good," Will finishes the quip. He drains his wine and shakes his head when Hannibal moves to top it up. He studies the older man's face. "Abigail called me knowing that I'd tell you, knowing what we'll do. What I'll choose to do."

Hannibal tilts his head. "She is resourceful and intelligent."

"I don't want her growing up like this," says Will.  _Like us._

"She is an adult now. She makes her own choices."

"We killed a boy that she felt _threatened_ by." Will knows that Abigail hadn't felt the least threatened by the young man, this _Adam_. Yet he had felt obligated to remove Adam. 

"She is your family," says Hannibal, his tone even. He touches Will's cheek and the corner of his lips. "You will do anything to protect your family. You know this. She knows this."

Will laughs shortly. He plays with a cube of cheese before eating it. "The pack leader, huh."

"Do you doubt that? Randall Tier threatened your pack. You showed him his mistake."

The harsh reminder of Life Before This startles Will. He jerks back from the kitchen island and starts pacing. 

Hannibal watches him, and continues, "You are the pack leader of this family too, don't you think?"

"What?" Will whirls around and stares in bewilderment at Hannibal. He can't help the grin that splits his face. "You are the dominant one here."

"I probably was," Hannibal agrees easily, "but now you hold the leash."

The image of Hannibal collared and muzzled surge unbidden into Will's head and he has to swallow the unexpected rush of lust. He has never been inclined towards such tasteless displays, yet...

"I hold the leash?"

"You opted to have the choice of determining when I get to sate my urges," says Hannibal, voice deceptively casual, but there is dark promise in those strange eyes. Perhaps it is a deliberate choice for the older man to lick his lower lip at that moment. "I find to my surprise that control ceded to a worthy man is... empowering."

Will slides closer. "Are you telling me that you like submitting to me?"

"Is it truly submission I offer, Will?" Hannibal asks in return. His teeth are bared in a small, feral smile.

To Hannibal's surprise, Will laughs, a clear, honest rumble of giddy mirth. The younger man loops his arms around Hannibal's waist and presses his mouth to the doctor's collarbone. His breath is moist and warm as he says, "You are an utterly ridiculous monster, you know. Letting your captive limit you." Will pulls back and nips at Hannibal's throat. 

Hannibal growls and captures Will against his body, loving how pliantly Will folds into him, even as the younger man now tests his teeth on Hannibal's skin. "A captive does not participate in the hunt, let alone the kill," Hannibal purrs. Then he pulls away and adds, in a mild complaint, "And you kept me off the blade for a whole  _year_ , Will. If I had been a man of lesser patience, I would have broken my promise."

"The Seraphina pies did go over very well," Will comments, amusement and pride still dancing in his storm-blue eyes. He bites his lower lip coyly, "That first time I had been too shaken to appreciate the artistry of your work. But you... you are Michelangelo in your chosen field."

"Flattery does not become you."

"It becomes you. I recognize the tells now, my love." Will is surprised by his use of the endearment. While he and Hannibal are intimately entwined in many ways, Will is not one to show affection verbally or publicly. The most he has ever done outside of the three of them was hold Hannibal's hand. Will knows his cheeks are turning bright pink and averts his eyes. He is forced to meet Hannibal's gaze when his chin in grasped and his face turned upwards. The older man looks ravenous and awed at the same time.

"I think we should go upstairs," says Hannibal quietly. It was not an invitation.

Will led the way.

*****

Their usual lovemaking is tender and mostly silent, more due to Will's innate shyness than Hannibal's preferences. Will also preferred to be claimed, deferring to his more experienced lover. Now, however, Will has Hannibal pinned under him, his hands gripping the older man's wrists as he kisses Hannibal deeply, drinking in the complex flavors that inhabited Hannibal's mouth.

"My love," Will repeats when he comes up for air, his lips dusting over high cheekbones and then again over each eyelid, "my love, my love."

Hannibal is breathing heavily and making no move to have Will in his customary place. Will eases off his grip and his hands skim over scars, elbows, arms; linger over a hairy chest, tugging playfully at the silvered curls; trail down to the vee of the hips, digging in fingers where he knows Hannibal is sensitive and earning an irritated 'Will Graham' out of it; down lean, muscled legs and bony ankles. It is novel, making love in broad daylight. He likes how the sun has colored the room and made Hannibal more real, less of an ideal and more of a man. He kisses the back of each foot and considers licking the older man's toes, but Hannibal probably considers that unsanitary. Will would have better luck if he tries that in their tub. 

Instead, he opts to kiss up the strong legs, feeling the slight tensing and relaxing of muscles under his hands and mouth. Hannibal is used to carrying himself with utter control and confidence, and it is tempting to push that control towards breaking. Will chooses to let Hannibal ease the reins himself, however, and sucks gently at the tender skin of Hannibal's inner thighs. It tastes and smells strongly of his lover, rich and tantalizing. Will ignores his own arousal, focusing solely on bringing Hannibal pleasure. His tongue laves over the reddened marks his mouth has brought to the surface. Carefully he noses towards Hannibal's groin. It is almost ticklish, but Will is able to ignore that as he buries his nose against the velvet of Hannibal's testicles while his mouth and lips explore the dense muskiness behind.

Hannibal groans, a long, broken sound. Will responds with his tongue flicking out and caressing that most secret of places, but refrains from exploring the puckered entrance with his tongue. It is not something he has ever done, and he would not want to kiss Hannibal afterwards if their positions were reversed, and so he pulls away and turns to licking and sucking on Hannibal's erection instead. 

"Will, _per favore_ ," Hannibal sighs, one hand finally conceding defeat to weave into sinfully luxuriant chocolate curls. " _Amore mio, non stuzzicare_."

" _Sto assaporando un banchetto_ ," Will replies in passable Italian. He does not use the language enough and feels embarrassed by his pronunciation. His lips press gentle kisses and his hands keep Hannibal from bucking up, though the older man would never do something quite that rude. "Pass me the lube, my love."

The lubricant is handed over and Will slicks his fingers up. His mouth opens to welcome Hannibal in, and his fingers now reach between Hannibal's legs for that hidden entrance. The older man has had Will's fingers and cock in him before, and Will knows that he enjoys the sensations. Yet, even if on those occasions Will was the one penetrating Hannibal, the older man was always in control, setting the pace of their lovemaking.

After the candid admissions in the kitchen, Will wants nothing more than to have Hannibal willingly submit. He prepares Hannibal efficiently, not trusting himself to speak while two of his fingers probe and scissor into Hannibal, drawing out soft moans and grunts. On impulse, Will sucks hard on Hannibal's cock, his free hand holding the erection steady, his other hand shoving deep and curling just where he knows will excite Hannibal.

On cue the older man curses, something in Lithuanian or Italian, and Will pulls off Hannibal's erection to laugh quietly. His fingers withdraw. Then he sits and slicks himself up, spilling slightly more lubricant than he intended.

Hannibal does not shift at all. He gazes down his body at Will between his legs, his thin lips curling slightly. His eyes are half-lidded, his cheeks high with color, and his silvering hair mussed up just enough to look tempting. It's a fetching look, and Will tells him so.

"I'd rather look debauched," Hannibal informs him dryly. 

"As you wish, my love," Will says, just to see the slight tremble in Hannibal's lips at the last two words. "Hands under your pillow. No touching at all unless I say so."

Hannibal blinks, slow and leonine, before he tucks his hands under the pillow he rests his head on. Will pulls Hannibal's legs over his own thighs and revels in the brush of his cock against Hannibal's skin, the precome and lube smearing stickily on his inner thigh. He shivers and the aligns himself. While this is not new, it is still rare enough to be a heady experience. Carefully, carefully he pushes in, his eyes fixed on Hannibal to see if he is causing discomfort.

Once he is fully sheathed, Will takes a moment, his eyes closing and his fingers clutching on his lover's flesh. It always stuns him, how hot and welcoming Hannibal's body is, opening up to take him in. A deep breath later and he bows over Hannibal, one hand braced on the bed and the other gripping Hannibal's knee.

"Don't touch," he warns a last time, and snaps his hips forward. 

It escalates fast. They are not young men, and such a frenetic pace is untenable for them. However, Will allows the reptile part of his mind to take over, the primitive need to claim his mate more important than affection or physical limitations. His fingers dig into fabric and flesh, while his feet arch to give him purchase. He hears himself grunting with every thrust, harsh whispers of " _mine, you're mine_ " dripping from his lips. He presses forward and down, bending Hannibal to take Will deeper. It also allows Will to press his open mouth to the bared throat before him, allows him to sink teeth into skin and flesh, drawing blood.

He growls and tightens his teeth. His hips piston forward, driven by blind passion, and his eyes squeeze shut.

He can see Hannibal painted in blood and shadow, see the savage elegance of Hannibal with a blade, slicing the boy's throat open and smearing his gloved fingers with the crimson life. He can see Hannibal looking at him as he carefully severs tendons and cuts meat from bone. He sees himself watching his lover take apart what used to be a human being, hears his own approval at the removal of a minor threat to their family, feels his pride in his lover's skill.

The images come fast and slam into him without pause.

_\- Hannibal cutting two small slices of the boy's heart._

_\- Hannibal eating a slice._

_\- Hannibal offering the other._

_\- Will accepting the hand-fed morsel._

He can taste fresh blood on his tongue. He can feel the smooth bit of muscle slide down his throat.

Will comes with a soft, choked cry, his hips tensing as he empties into Hannibal. He is almost spent when realizes that Hannibal is still hard, his tip weeping. Will's hands fumble to help, but it barely takes two strokes before Hannibal comes as well with a low roar. His thighs clamp around Will, keeping him in place while Will milks him with his hands, his tongue lapping at the bloodied mark on Hannibal's throat.

It is only when Hannibal protests that Will withdraws, though not without the younger man running his non-lubricated fingers through the mess on Hannibal's belly and sucking them clean.

"I am old, Will, do not torment me," Hannibal says with a chuckle.

Will bats his lashes outrageously, smiling around his sticky fingers. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

They lie side by side. Will lets his breath center him before he goes to the bathroom to wash himself and returns to clean Hannibal up, much as how Hannibal usually takes care of him after. It is very bright outside and a breeze picks up, sweeping the scents and sounds of late spring into the bedroom. Will tosses the towel into their laundry hamper and joins Hannibal in the bed, belly down on top of the ruined sheets, his rump bared to to the gentle caresses of the wind. Hannibal exhales softly and kisses the younger man, large hand lingering on the small of Will's back.

Hannibal's phone rings. Will hides his mirth when Hannibal actually snarls in the direction of the gadget. 

"Go on," Will encourages. "It's probably Abigail."

"I'd eat her right now," Hannibal whines, or in a tone very like it. He grabs the phone off the bedside table and puts it on speaker. "Good afternoon, Amanda."

 _"Father, is it okay if I invited my friends over for a few days during the break?"_ Abigail is unerringly polite when Hannibal talks to her. For all that they are a family, Abigail prefers to come to Will for the big problems and to Hannibal for minor ones, when they all know that Will tells Hannibal everything.

"Of course," Hannibal says, "as long as they are not rude."

" _They won't be,_ " Abigail reassures. " _Thank you._ "

"You're welcome. Do rest well, and study hard." Hannibal strokes Will's shoulder where a bullet left its mark. "Will sends his love too."

" _I love you both too, very much. Bye._ "

Hannibal stabs at the screen and turns it to silent mode, before lying down again.

Will rolls onto his side and regards his lover. "Did you ever think you could have this?" he asks.

"No." Hannibal smiles, pensive. He takes Will's hand and kisses his fingers. "You gave me a dream and realized it, even when you were unaware of it. Thank you."

Will cups Hannibal's cheek. The moment feels sacred and secret, a stolen scrap from the fabric of time. The younger man whispers, "Thank _you_ , my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I relied on Google translate so...  
> Per favore: please  
> Amore mio, non mi stuzzicare: My love, do not tease me  
> sto assaporando un banchetto: I'm enjoying a feast


	6. Be Blind

Will has not expected to see her since he left the States, so when he leaves the bakery and collides with her, he almost thinks he is in a dream. 

Alana Bloom is catches him by the arm before he can leave. She is as lovely as the roses Hannibal now cultivates in their garden, even though her countenance is dark and sorrowful. "Will."

"Alana," he says, and then smiles. "You look good."

"We thought you were dead."

Will makes a moue of mock apology. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Are you with him?"

"I think we'll need a place to sit and chat for this," says Will. He frees his arm from her grip, and then offers her his elbow. "Come on, I know a charming little coffee bar round the corner."

*****

They don't speak until the coffee arrives; the barista is a slender young woman with dark hair tipped in brilliant pink, and she smiles as she deposits their drinks. They find themselves standing at one end of the bar, though it is quiet enough that there are only two other customers, and they are busy chatting with the barista.

"Are you with him?" Alana asks again, her voice low and hard.

Will smiles. She sounds the same as the time she broke off their friendship, when Will tried to have Hannibal killed.

"No small talk then?" he teases, and finishes his drink. "What if I am?" It's not a yes.

"Why?" She sounds broken and afraid. "Will, you must know who he is. What he is."

Will shrugs. "I made my choice, Alana. Thank you for the dogs. How are they?"

"What's wrong with you?" she demands. She looks exquisite when her temper rises; Will wonders what she looked like when Hannibal fucked her. Was the color high in her cheeks, her eyes bright? She glances around and lowers her volume. "The Will I know would never have allowed a murderer to escape. Has he changed you so much that you no longer tell right from wrong?"

"Perhaps I don't give a shit about right and wrong anymore." He chuckles and exhales. "Enjoy your coffee, Alana. I have some more groceries to pick up. Forgive me if I don't invite you for dinner; you and I both know that would not be wise."

She grips him by the wrist and whispers, "You can come with me. He won't know, Will, the FBI can protect you."

"The FBI can't stop us from getting to each other, Alana," says Will gently. He cups her cheek, and then winds his fingers into her silky hair. Once, so long ago, he had held her like this and kissed her. Strange to think that this set of lips had touched both him and Hannibal. They really should compare notes tonight. "Have you told Jack about coming here?"

Her silence is telling.

Will sighs and lets her go. "I suppose I'd have done the same."

"Will, you're not safe with him," she tries again. She clings on to the Will Graham she knew, instead of accepting the one she sees.

He presses a kiss to her brow and then her cheek. His breath is cool as he murmurs, "There is no place safer for me, Alana, than being next to him. I chose this."

"You don't have to." 

"But I  _want_ to." He pulls back and looks her in the eyes. She blinks away her tears and suddenly realizes what she is seeing. "Don't look for us, Alana. I will not have you endangering my home a second time, as fond of you as we are. It will be a shame if I have to ask him to do what's necessary."

He leaves her at the bar.

She sits and absorbs the words. Her hands shake when she picks up her cup, and then she texts Jack.

_False lead. Maybe we'll have better luck in Montpellier._


	7. Ferryman

Jack knows Will and Hannibal are together. He wishes he wants to let them be, but knowing what Hannibal Lecter is, the agent cannot pretend the two don't exist. For a whole year he can't bring himself to care - his emotions and efforts are vested solely in the care of his wife. He leaves the chase to the FBI, lets them run their investigations. 

Hannibal's house is sealed, of course. Kade Purnell uses Hannibal's sudden disappearance to search his house. The agent who found the basement and the horrors within has quit. It's understandable, from what Price and Zee tells Jack of the room, what they found there. Unfortunately, Purnell herself wasn't on the scene, and thus remains within the bureau.

After what they discovered, the FBI dropped the charges about entrapment. Jack wishes he felt vindicated. Instead he feels like he's been handed a Pyrrhic victory, bitter and hollow and useless. Now the agency has the doctor on their top ten. Jack has debated long and hard with himself whether to have Will's name on it too, and in the end the decision is taken from him - Purnell uses the Randall Tier case as a reason, and Will Graham is hung out to dry.

Freddie Lounds had a field day running the stories, and her account of Will Graham's involvement with the Chesapeake Ripper as well as her resurrection brought her what she wanted: notoriety, a book deal, and wealth. The redhead has capitalized on her infamy and the FBI's ignominy 

Will is a highly dangerous fugitive, same as Hannibal. Jack knows the two will be keeping tabs on the FBI's actions, and wonders what measures Will has taken to hide their tracks. There is no way the FBi will catch them, Jack knows. The Chesapeake Ripper alone evaded them for years; with Will Graham - a trained homicide detective with forensic knowledge under his belt, who has worked in law enforcement,  _taught_ law enforcement, who can think like anyone - they may as well have disappeared from the face of the earth.

On the day of the funeral, a wreath of white lilies and a small box with three coins are delivered to his house. Greek obols, in fact, tiny silver coins with the patterns so worn out they are nearly flat. Jack is a prosaic man but he understands.

He has the coins and box dusted for prints. Nothing usable. 

There is a note that he does not send in for tests. 

_We are both sorry for your loss._

He recognizes the handwriting, and somehow he feels a sadly familiar glimmer of friendship from the words. He doesn't doubt that the senders meant every word.

In the quieter spaces between cases, he wonders if he's been pushing too hard all along, and that was why Will chose to leave with Hannibal. That it is easier to walk among the shadows with a monster than fight it. He doesn't want to blame himself, because Will is a grown man and can make his own choices, but sometimes self-recrimination creeps up on him like an unexpected shadow.

*****

He visits Alana and the dogs she's adopted. She gave away four out of the pack, and kept three. For a while she was hounded by the press for details about the Chesapeake Ripper, about Hannibal the Cannibal, about her lover; Freddie Lounds hadn't spared Alana from the scrutiny of the tabloids. However, Alana is made of steel, and has outlasted the paparazzi without ever losing her grace or composure. Then the FBI asked her to go to Italy on a lead from Interpol, and they all came back empty-handed. She hasn't talked to him about the case and he hasn't questioned her, not yet, but he thinks he knows what happened.

Jack hasn't meant to ask, but the question slips through his teeth in the form of a statement. "You saw Will Graham in Italy."

Alana pauses, and resumes the walk. "Is this the FBI asking or you, Jack?"

"Just me."

Her dark eyes sweep over him for a minute, and then she lowers her gaze, stares at her feet. "He wasn't him anymore. Not the Will Graham you and I knew."

"He threatened you."

"I was more afraid of what he would do to the agents with me."

Jack inhales, holds his breath, and then lets it out slowly. "So you diverted the chase?"

"I'd hoped that... that he'd been coerced. Something." Her lips twitch. "But it was more likely that he'd alert Hannibal, that they would kill the agents and me. I... I didn't want to die, and I didn't want other people to die because of me."

"You think Will Graham would've killed."

"I know he would have killed. He'd been living with Hannibal, the real Hannibal. I don't think they're afraid of anything now. And that makes me-" Her voice catches. Alana licks her lips and admits, "That makes me terrified."

They walk for a few minutes in silence.

"A year is a long time for Hannibal to be in anyone's head," says Jack when he thinks the mood is less fraught. Will had said something like this about Miriam Lass.

Shaking her dark brown hair from her face, Alana smiles, though her gaze looks more like she wishes to cry. "Hannibal isn't only in his head, and we both know it."

The two fall silent again, and walk together, the dogs bounding away ahead and around them.

Still, Jack can't leave them be. His integrity won't allow it.

*****

When the hunt catches up briefly with Hannibal and Will, the fallout is spectacularly bloody. Jack follows the news from Quantico. He's not been allowed to go on this investigation - it's Kade Purnell's plan, and she wants the credit - and he isn't sure he's glad not to have been there.

Whether Hannibal has refined his technique or roped Will in as an accomplice didn't matter - four dead bodies in as twice many days, all displayed in ways beyond what Hannibal ever did in Baltimore. It is a rebuke and a taunt:  _chase us and this is what you'll get._

One man was bound into a _shibari_ installation in an abandoned barn, the man forming the center of a heart while ropes stretched out around him like veins and arteries. He might have survived except his skin had been completely flayed. Blood had stained the ropes used into dark brown-black.

The second  was found frozen in a meat locker. When they thawed out his body, they found that the wrists, elbows, knees and ankles had been shattered with extreme prejudice, and his tongue had been removed with surgical precision.

The third was found in a church bell. Part of him, anyway. His head and spine. It was a doctor who worked for Mason Verger.

The fourth was Mason Verger. He had been stripped, branded with the Verger branding iron, and choked with a pig's tongue.

*****

Purnell doesn't keep her position long. Jack thinks briefly about going on the trail again, but drops the idea. 

He has other monsters to chase.

*****

When the Tooth Fairy begins his killings, Jack gets a profile sent to his home. No return address, no fingerprints, no accompanying letter.

Not even initials.

Just a profile.

Jack doesn't want to be grateful, but he is. And he hates the gratitude with a burning and impotent rage.

He was the one who introduced them. 

He is certain they won't ever let him forget it.


End file.
